


Jerusalem Syndrome

by Arlome



Series: Luciferian Tales [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Heatwave, Religion, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 04:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16779910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlome/pseuds/Arlome
Summary: During a trying heatwave, Chloe seeks the refuge of a cool, comfortable penthouse. Lucifer uses the sudden, relaxed visit to tell her a little tale from his past.





	Jerusalem Syndrome

The heatwave is the worst the State has seen in years, according to the weather report. 

The temperature outside is over 100֯ F, the hospitals are filled with heatstroke victims, and the electric companies are straining under the significant load of overstimulated cooling appliances. The weather forecast for the weekend is not optimistic; there is to be no break in the heatwave for another three days at least. With no storm in sight and with the water shortage that hangs above the metaphorical head of the State of California like the pendulum from Hell, there seems to be no swift relief from the stifling heat.

Chloe stands in the middle of her kitchen, in her undergarments, furiously fanning herself with a stack of unopened letters. The phone she holds pressed to her ear is getting slippery with sweat.

“Yes, I understand you are barely functioning under this situation,” she practically growls into the ever-heating phone, “but guess what? So am I! Do you honestly mean to tell me there is nobody that you can send over?” 

She’s been on the phone with the company for the last 30 minutes, trying to find some unoccupied electric that can save her from the literal hell she is in, as her AC decided to stutter to its untimely death at some point during the night. The receptionist on the other side of the line doesn’t really give a damn that Chloe barely made it to morning, sweating and being altogether too miserable for words; she doesn’t even let her finish a single sentence like a decent human being. Frustrated and livid, Chloe thinks briefly of sending the dreadful woman where the sun doesn’t shine but promptly thinks against it, on account of it probably being quite chilly there, and therefore too nice for the bitch. 

“No, Monday is not good enough, I have a _child-“_ she nearly loses composure at the prospect of spending the entire weekend in this limbo, “are you seriously telling me there’s no-“ the receptionist is talking over her as if it were the company’s policy and Chloe desperately tries to control her temper – “yes, I understand, but-“ she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath through her nose and counts to ten _slowly_ – “well, please notify me as soon as somebody becomes available!”

The receptionist hangs up, and Chloe puts down the phone on the kitchen counter, immensely proud of herself for not flinging it against the wall instead. Frustrated and dangerously overheated, she takes a few steps into her living room and, groaning like a truck driver with haemorrhoids, falls face first into the pillows on her couch. Breathing heavily through her mouth, Chloe closes her eyes in mild despair. Sweat accumulates under her ponytail, warming her nape in a moist, smarmy way; making her squirm in disdain. Irritated and disgruntled by the whole turn of recent events, she swats at the offending ponytail rather aggressively and flicks if over her head and away from her sensitive skin.

Well, at least Trixie’s not home for this wretched business. She’s been spending the last few days with Dan’s elderly Aunt Maria, no doubt eating too much cake and staying late watching cartoons; the loving old lady could never say no to the little monster, really. Chloe just prays that the whole AC business will be fixed by the time her monkey returns.

Feeling the heat pressing down on her, she groans again.

Her skin is on fire, flames dancing inside her veins; she feels like she’s being roasted alive. This must be how being in Hell feels like, she thinks miserably. 

_…Speaking of-_

Chloe sits bolt upright, her hair sliding down her head and brushing against her shoulders. A sudden, crazy thought creeps into her mind and spreads roots like an unwanted tenant. She doesn’t have to suffer this heat, not _really;_ there _is_ one place in this wretched city, where the breeze is heavenly even on a day such as this one, and where the cool marble floors are comforting and soothing-

She leaps from the couch and rushes upstairs before she can talk her overheated brain into reason and prudence. Unheeding of the clothes she pulls out of her closet, she struggles into a pair of denim shorts she’s not worn since the days of _Hot Tub High School,_ and a tank top that clings to her sweaty body like second skin. After a quick French Shower, she practically flies out of the house and into her car, barely remembering to lock up the apartment. This is definitely the most naked she’s been, stepping out of the house and into public, in years, but Chloe can’t really care at the moment. The heat is unbearable, and she can finally see a solution in sight.

The car drives off with a hasty screech of its reluctant tires. 

***

The moment Chloe steps into the Penthouse, she can breathe again. Cool air hits her in the face like a welcomed punch, and she closes her eyes and practically moans at the sensation. 

“Now _that_ is a sound I wouldn’t mind hearing more often…”

The leering, beautifully accented lilt ignites fire in Chloe’s cheeks. _Of course,_ the damned man had to stumble upon her at this exact moment. Just her luck, really.

She opens her eyes to find him standing a few feet from her, dressed only in his silk Pyjamas bottoms. The sight of his pale, toned torso does nothing to alleviate her overheated state of being. 

“Hello, Detective,” he says softly, his eyes almost black and inviting, “fancy seeing you here.”

“My AC broke down, and there’s no one that can fix it at the moment,” she says hurriedly, taking a step into the room; Lucifer’s gaze maps out her body like a zealous cartographer and the blood in her cheeks rises to the occasion, “mind if I mould myself into your cool marble floor?”

He chuckles lightly at her turn of phrase and the atmosphere changes as if some sort of a spell is broken. He comes closer to her, smiling mischievously and tilts his chin in her direction. _Uh-oh,_ Chloe thinks, her heart picking up the pace in her chest.

“Oh, I’ve got a better idea, “he says gleefully, leaning in a little closer, “I’m just off to take a dip in the pool; come, join me!”

Well, _fuck._

“Oh, no-no, that’s okay, “she stutters, backing away; the elevator is not far behind her. Suddenly roasting to death doesn’t sound so awful. Maybe this really _was_ a bad idea coming here, “I don’t even have a bathing suit-“

“Nonsense, Detective!” he cries exuberantly, already unburdening her of her purse and guiding her towards the balcony with his warm hand on the small of her back,” It’s hot as Hades here- and I should know! - I have some suits I keep for pool parties; there’re even some that have never been worn before.” 

He’s smiling enchantingly, and she does want the cool water against her skin- craves it, really-but she really shouldn’t…should she?

Chloe takes a deep breath and steps away from him; somewhat reluctantly, if she's being honest with herself.

“I…no,” she says, shaking her head, “I don’t think so.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrow and he suddenly turns serious, almost _worried._

“Look, I’m not going to do, or say, anything untoward, Detective; if you’re worried,” he urges earnestly, “I really do think a swim will do you good; you’re red as a lobster, and for once, I don’t think that it’s because of me.”

“It’s not that,” she retaliates swiftly, completely ignoring his last remark, “It’s just that I- well, I’ve not…shaved in some time if you must know.”

It’s not the complete truth, but it is not a lie, either. It has… _been_ a while since she had the need to groom _that_ specific area, and without that need, she just couldn’t be bothered, so she let it run a little on the wild side. 

Chloe braces herself mentally for all the gleeful mocking that is sure to follow. Lucifer is sure to have a freaking _field day_ with this. 

But to her great astonishment, his face doesn’t change at all, and all he does is shrug.

“Oh, that?” he asks, and waves his hand in dismissal,” You shouldn’t be embarrassed about something so trivial as that, Detective.” 

Chloe’s eyebrows rise to meet her hairline, and she scoffs in disbelief.

“Trivial?” she asks incredulously and crosses her arms,” Really? And that’s coming from ‘Mr-I-Manscape’?”

He scoffs and bares his teeth for a second, no doubt brewing some brilliant reply in that pretty, scheming head of his, but then he narrows his eyes for a fraction of a second instead, sticks his tongue in his cheek and shrugs again. 

“Look, Detective; I’m happy to turn around, if it makes you feel better,” he says and gestures with his right hand to indicate that ‘it’s no trouble, really’,” but I promise you, the little rainforest you’re growing down there won’t make me want to sleep with you any less.”

Chloe throws her hands in giddy exasperation.

“And we’re back to that.”

Lucifer grins wickedly and winks at her without a shred of shame.

“Always.”

***

In the end, she relents, and he keeps his word.

He’s already in the pool, his gaze averted like a true Gentleman’s, by the time she emerges from the guest bedroom dressed in the tiniest, flimsiest bikini the world has to offer. It’s red and tight, and barely covers her tits, let alone her behind, and she needs to restrain herself from pulling at the string that’s so firmly lodged between her but cheeks. Cursing herself ten times over for agreeing to Lucifer’s idea, Chloe slinks into the blessedly cool water, and, submerged up to her chin, coughs politely. Lucifer turns around to regard her with ill-disguised amusement.

“Are you decent, Sister?” he asks, his voice tight with barely restrained laughter.

“Shut up,” Chloe grumbles and crosses her arms underwater. Lucifer loses the battle and guffaws.

“I’m sorry, Detective,” he concedes, chuckling madly, “this was just too good to pass on. You really are the oldest young person I know! Prudish does not become you, Darling.”

Chloe frowns and turns to him, eyes bright with righteous anger.

“There is nothing prudish in not necessarily wanting to parade around in something that is clearly not meant to be seen outside of a Porno filming studio!” she hisses, embarrassed and already regretting her choice for this evening’s activity, “this was a mistake; turn around so that I can get out of the pool, please.” 

She turns her back to him, the water sloshing tempestuously with her sudden movements when she feels his hand on her arm, and suddenly he’s all too close, and his body is hot enough that she feels his warmth even in the coolness of the pool.

“Wait, Detective!” he implores, tugging softly on her arm so that she has no choice but to turn back towards him, “Don’t go, please; I didn’t mean –“

She raises her finger to shush him and jabs it in his chest. His smooth, muscular chest. Blood creeps up her neck and stains her cheeks. She’s never stood so close to him without the barrier of clothes before. 

“No more needling or I’m out; got it?” she blurts, her voice surprisingly steady, and he nods vigorously.

“Got it!” he promises, a relieved smile gracing his lips, “I will be as good as a choir boy, Detective!”

Chloe can’t help it, she sniggers and pushes at him; her palm bumping into his left pectoral. He makes a show of stumbling back into the water.

“Yeah, Yeah,” she scoffs, and swims closer to him, “so, anything to drink in this place of yours?”

***

An hour later they’re sitting on his balcony, in two bathrobes, he’s drinking whisky while she’s sipping her third glass of chilled wine. The breeze is pleasant, cool and heavenly on her heated face, and Chloe can’t help but sigh at the soft sensation and close her eyes in pleasure as the balcony blurs slightly around her. The penthouse is bathed in light peach as the sun begins its descent on the horizon and the mad cacophony of the busy street below barely reaches her ears. Chloe opens her eyes to find Lucifer regarding the view with a distant expression on his face, as he swivels the whisky in his tumbler absentmindedly. 

“I meant what I said earlier, you know,” he says suddenly, and turns to her, frowning lightly, “About body hair, that is. I sometimes miss the times when humans were more… _earthy,_ let us call it?” he cups his chin in his palm and leans his elbow on the chair’s armrest, “More Eu Natural, so to speak.”

Chloe narrows her eyes and regards him almost suspiciously.

“What, you mean like in the 70s…? Or, in the Renaissance?” The whole notion seems preposterous. 

“Heavens, no, Detective!” he cries in dismay and leans back in his seat before turning to regard her with something that can only be described as fastidious dismay, “people in the Renaissance smelt of sewers, stale sweat and weak rose water! No, I mean a more, let us say, Biblical time.”

 _Oh, here we go,_ she thinks, mentally rolling her eyes, more _‘Devil talk’._ But a glance down at her quite delicious glass of chilled wine has her reconsidering her reluctance to indulge her handsome host. The liquid smells pungently sweet and gives her a lovely buzz that is already bordering on light drunkenness. She purses her lips and thinks, _well, what harm can it really do?_

“What, ‘Adam and Eve, forbidden fruit’ Biblical?” Chloe asks, humouring him for once. If Lucifer is surprised by her acceptance, he doesn’t show it.

“More like Jerusalem-on-the-verge-of-the-birth-of-Jesus -Christ time.” He says, eyes twinkling in the dimming light. 

The left corner of Chloe’s lips rises slightly, and she cocks her head to regard him playfully.

“This sounds oddly specific, Lucifer,” her tone uncharacteristically playful. This must be the ample amount of wine talking, no doubt,” now you’re going to tell me of a sweet shepherd boy you found frolicking in the Judaean Hills and simply had to have?”

Lucifer throws his head back and laughs, uninhibited and full of vim, and Chloe suddenly feels this little tightening in her lower abdomen that usually assaults her at the carefree way he sometimes presents himself around her when they are alone. 

“No, no, “he shakes his head, still chuckling, oblivious to the slightly pinking cheeks of his partner, “a young woman, actually – the daughter of the High Priest in the Temple in Jerusalem. She was a rare beauty, very alluring …just eighteen, on the cusp of womanhood and about to get betrothed to some young priest from a wealthy family. Her name was Tamar, and she was- _well_ \- almost divine.” He scoffs, his eyes faraway and his countenance oddly nostalgic, “you should have seen her, Detective; dark curls tumbling down her exquisite back, eyes black as the night – oh, she was an exceptional woman; with a sharp mind, and a sharper tongue – “

Chloe’s face contorts in mock disgust.

“Lucifer, ew!” 

But he only laughs again, amused at the interruption.

“No, not that! I only meant - _wit,_ she had a sharp wit,” he explains and gestures with his glass, “I met her in the marketplace in Jerusalem on a busy day, she was with her dour nurse, and I – I just couldn’t help myself,” he smiles at her guilelessly and shrugs, “I asked her of her deepest desire – “ 

“– and what was it?” Chloe can’t help herself, wholly enthralled with this oddly detailed fantasy tale.

Lucifer smiles somewhat sardonically above the rim of his glass.

“Why, to have the knowledge of men, Detective; what else?”

“What do you mean?” Chloe asks, confused, “Like, carnal knowledge…?”

“No, no, nothing of the sort,” he shakes his head, and studies the dwindling contents of his glass, “Tamar wanted to be able to study the Holy Scriptures – back in those days women weren’t allowed to, you know…so I made a deal – “

“But I thought…?” she interrupts him, clearly confused.

“Oh, you thought that I abhor anything faintly religious?” Lucifer nods, clearly approving of her knowing him so well, “and you would be absolutely right, except that Jews don’t really see the Devil as Christians do. They barely believe in the concept – “ but here he suddenly stops and looks at her strangely, as if something suddenly occurred to him, “say, are you Jewish by any chance, Detective?”

Chloe laughs softly at the strange, but oh-so-Luciferian, inquiry.

“Afraid not,” she smiles, and he shrugs.

“Worth a shot.” He says with a small smile of his own, “Anyway, I’m not even mentioned in the Old Testament; well, unless you count the Book of Job, and that’s a bunch of poppycock written by people who couldn’t wrap their minds around the fact that Dear Old Dad is just a sick twisted bastard.” He scoffs suddenly, and directs a dirty look at the darkening skies, before turning to her with a tight smile, “But I digress, Detective...so, back to the story. As I said, I made a deal; she’d sneak me into her room, and we’d read the Torah by the light of the oil lamps, and then we’d lie together in absolute darkness.” His eyebrows wiggle suggestively and Chloe giggles at his trademark mischievousness, “Her scent sometimes still clings to my nostrils, even after two millennia – parchment, wool, balsam oil, fertile earth – she was life itself.” 

He grows silent suddenly; pensive and almost _old._

“What happened to her?” Chloe asks quietly, unwilling to break the eerie atmosphere that surrounds them. Lucifer looks up at her, and she is surprised to see something almost raw in his eyes.

“She died in childbirth two years later, together with her newborn son;” his tone is wistful, sad,” I never saw her again.”

“Oh, Lucifer…” Chloe whispers, her heart breaking for the absolutely real sentiment behind his fantasy.

He looks away and smiles gloomily.

“You know, Detective, when I’d go on these little vacations occasionally, Amenadiel would always come to usher me back to Hell, and – well, he somehow knew…about her, about Tamar- and this one time, he decided to tell me what befell her; that she was in the Silver City – happy, rocking her child in her arms, “ he lifts his eyes to look at the woman before him and grins, “and up there, she could finally read the Scriptures in peace.”

There’s silence, and Chloe blinks away the tingling in her eyes. She wants to say _“Nice tale; ever thought of becoming a writer?”_ , she wants to sigh and roll her eyes at his _‘Devil shtick’_ ; she even wishes to push at him and snort and tell him that that’s the worst possible ploy of his to get her into his bed. 

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she lays her palm on his knee and says:” I’m sorry about your friend.”

He looks at her oddly for a moment, with that half-cocked puppy stare of his, his lips slightly parted and moist with drink. His eyes are narrowed, and Chloe can practically see him calculating in his brain, trying to figure out her angle. She squeezes his thigh and gives him a soft smile, and suddenly the suspicion in his eyes melts away and makes room for awe.

“Thank you, Detective,” he says at last, and his voice is a quiet rumble, and mallow as wine.

For tonight, and just for tonight, she’s going to take his words for the absolute truth.

**Author's Note:**

> The concept of the 'Devil' in Judaism is practicaly nonexsistant (as is the concept of Hell, really, but that is a whole story alltogether). What we do have is this entity called "Hayetzer Ha'ra", meaning: the bad urge, or evil inclination, to commit acts that are not really approved by God. This is a concept that dwells inside every person, and it is the person's choice wether to give in to the urge to do bad things, or not. Free will, right?:)  
> There are Talmudic sources, of course, that sort of combine this Yetzer Ha'ra with the idea of a Devil that tries mankind for the sake of God, but the sources are later (2nd-6th centuries AD).   
> That's why Lucifer asks Chloe if she is Jewish, by any chance - we don't really beileve in this concept, and so we don't blame Satan for bad things we do or happen to us, we blame ourselves.   
> Oh, there's nothing like good ol' Jewish guilt:)


End file.
